lady, where's your love gone? (it was the antiseptic to the sore)
by daydise
Summary: He was convinced she had secret healing powers within her smile. / snowbarry


**A little something I whipped up in a couple hours. Inspired by multiple songs—mainly _No Buses_ by the Arctic Monkeys.**

;;

The first time Barry saw her, he was drenched to the bone and he'd lost his bus pass so they had to stop for a couple of minutes, much to everyone's disapproval. He ignored an old woman's glare—she twisted her gnarly hand around her trolley bag handle, shaking her head.

He shuffled down the aisle, head down, embarrassment donning his cheeks. He was shoving his bus pass back into his wallet when the bus lurched and he was left sprawling— _onto the old woman_. He groaned at his luck. Uttering 'sorrys' repeatedly under his breath, he scrambled back to his feet and firmly clutched the poles he should've held onto as soon as he entered the bus.

The woman gave him a wicked stare and he couldn't help but feel _extremely_ threatened. Barry smiled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck, before turning away _immediately_.

He was clambering up the steps to the back half of the bus when he noticed her. She was sitting on the left, second from the back, in the window seat. She was looking directly at him, trying but failing to hide her growing smile. She covered her red lips with her small hand and turned to look out the window, auburn curls bouncing at the sudden movement. The mirth never left her eyes.

When the bus lurched again, he realised that he still hadn't found a seat and was standing around like a fool staring at a stranger. Barry immediately fell into the nearest seat, staring out the window so he could control the blush rising to his cheeks.

 _Barry the em'Barry'sing._ Wasn't that something Tony Woodward said?

He shook his head. He did not want to be reminded of high school right now.

Anywho, he opened his bag to find that his manila folders were now a soggy mess and he struggled to keep the biggest groan he could muster, contained. Captain Singh was going to kill him.

All thoughts about the auburn-haired woman left his mind as he focused on the task at hand: A) avoid Joe West, B) avoid Captain Singh and C) print out about a month's worth of profiles on CCPD's most notorious criminals without anyone noticing.

* * *

The old woman from yesterday seemed to remember him because when he stepped onto the bus, she tapped her old, leathery finger at her bus pass attached to a bright pink lanyard around her neck. His cheeks reddened and he tapped on, making a show of it to the woman. She looked satisfied enough as she slumped back into her seat.

This time, he held onto the mustard yellow poles as he walked down the aisle, and when the bus lurched, he caught himself before he could embarrass himself— _again_.

Almost instinctively, he looked up to find that the auburn-haired woman was reading. If he squinted hard enough, he could just make out the word 'bio-engineering' on the cover. She was sitting in the same spot as yesterday, and as a CSI at CCPD, he connected the dots and assumed she took this bus regularly. And apparently so did the old woman at the front.

He moved swiftly into his seat from yesterday, figuring if _everyone_ had spots, so would he. He settled his bag onto the seat next to him and perched his chin on his hand, his elbow leaning on the small window sill of the bus. His head vibrated against the glass, making staring out the window kind of disorienting.

All in all, he was bored. Yesterday, he had his ruined work to mull over (which by the way, was all worked out. So no biggie), but today it was just an average commute. He found that his thoughts wandered over to the old woman.

She had wiry white hair, combed painstakingly into the slickest bun that he'd ever seen. She wore floral dresses and kind of smelt like cat piss when he fell on her yesterday. She had various plastic bags strewn around her feet.

 _Where was she going? Why did she need so many bags? It was 7:50 am, who would possibly be shopping at that time? Also, what was her deal? Did she have to be somewhere?_

 _Did she hate him?_

For some reason, Barry felt like he genuinely cared if the woman liked him or not. He snorted, shaking his head. What had become of him? Who gives if an old woman he doesn't even know likes him or not?

It was only a few seconds after that he realised that he snorted out loud.

Some man across from him gave him a dirty look, whilst the old woman from the front tsked. He craned his head to see if anyone else noticed—god forbid the auburn haired woman. He didn't know why he cared so much, if Barry was honest.

But yes—she was smiling, endearingly hiding it behind her science book. He turned his head back to the window to fight the red in his cheeks.

 _Only…_ he checked his watch… _20 minutes to go._

He groaned.

Internally, this time.

* * *

The old lady wasn't on the bus this time, much to Barry's relief. And even better, there seemed to be no more trip ups on the way to his seat. You'd think a 24-year-old would know how to take a bus properly, but apparently not.

The auburn haired woman was in her seat, so was the man from two days ago. Both had earphones plugged in and looked longingly out the window. Other than that, the bus was sparse, only a few school kids littering the front seats and a couple that were practically sitting on top of each other at the very back.

Barry, feeling a little peer pressured (everyone had earphones!), pulled out his own earphones from his pocket. Due to his carelessness, his bus pass was flicked across the bus, making a loud slapping sound on the floor of the bus. Once again, he had disturbed the quiet 505 bus, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Only the school kids looked at him, but he caught the auburn-haired woman eyes in the window. They locked eyes through the reflection and he smiled awkwardly. He inwardly cringed.

Barry ignored the school kids snickering. They were like 12 anyway, so he paid them no mind as he painstakingly shuffled out of his seat and bent down to retrieve his card.

Sinking back into his seat, his thoughts landed on the auburn-haired woman. She seemed to be a regular on his bus, so rather than calling her 'the auburn-haired woman', he thought about a name that'd suit her. Of course, he could just ask, but he didn't want to seem creepy.

At that thought, he snuck a glance at the woman. She always wore clothes that could only be described as 'high school principal'. Today, she was wearing a navy blouse that contrasted against her pale skin.

It did not escape him that she was rather pretty—even if he had never had a good look at her face. She had wide, brown eyes that were doe-like.

 _Doe?_ No, that was a terrible name, even by his standards.

Well, she did look like her name started with a 'D'. Or a 'C'. Well, she _definitely_ looked like a 'soft' name.

Barry untangled his earphones absentmindedly, his mind working a million miles per hour trying to figure out the perfect name. Just as a reference point, he'd never thought about something so hard.

 _Allison? No. Maybe Annie?_

 _Layla._

Layla was it, Barry was sure. He was willing to bet his career on it—okay, maybe not that far. But even if he was wrong, her name had to be Layla in some other parallel universe.

With his heart content with the perfect name for the woman, he finally plugged his earphones in and pressed play.

* * *

Layla moved spots—Barry noticed immediately. It had been a month since he'd first saw her, and this was the first time he'd seen her sit somewhere else with someone else.

A man with shoulder-length curls sat by her side, one arm slung lazily over her shoulders and feet kicked up on the seat in front. Barry tapped on his bus pass whilst discreetly sneaking glances at the pair. The man looked about his age and was wearing a yellow Star Wars shirt that rivalled the colour of the bus poles. He watched as he leaned over, lips close to her ear, and whispered something.

Layla giggled, the sound resonating in the quiet, old bus. It almost made him stop in his tracks. _Almost_ —if he did he knew that Mel (the old leathery woman that smelt of cat piss looked like a Mel) would probably try and trip him over. She was a mean old lady.

The sound of her laugh made him tingle with warmth all over. It was like sitting in front of a fire on a cold winter's day.

Barry continued along the bus, sliding into his seat casually—at least he _hoped_. Because there was a smile growing uncontrollably at the sight of Layla smiling—her grin was wide and toothy (it was so endearingly cute). It made every crevice of his body shiver happily.

And between you and me, he stuffed in his earphones only to not press play. The sound of her laughter was enough.

The warmth never left as he stepped off the bus into the snow.

* * *

Iris and Eddie's wedding was tonight. In simpler words, Barry was dejected. Completely and utterly hopeless. He stood no chance. To be honest, he stood no chance before, but this felt like multiple gunshots to his childhood dreams.

Needless to say, he had to physically drag himself out of bed. Every step he took was like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And to put the cherry on top, he was late to work— _again_.

Barry trudged to the bus stop, keeping his eyes trained on his soaked Converses. Rain pelted at his shoddy umbrella—the handle broke off earlier this morning in the harsh wind, so he was holding onto the flimsy shaft.

The bus also was 15 minutes late, and there was no bus shelter to huddle for warmth in. This was also the late bus, so he wouldn't even get to see Layla. The day seemed to be going as well as he felt—absolute _shit_.

When the bus pulled in, it splashed water onto his already thoroughly soaked shoes. He found that he didn't care anymore.

 _Iris was getting married_ (not to him, might he add). _Nothing mattered anymore._

One thing that was good about the rain was that it hid the tears.

Barry sighed heavily as he pulled himself into the bus and struggled with closing his umbrella. His feet dragged along the floor as tapped on unenthusiastically. He kept his eyes on his shoes, which squelched with every step, leaving small puddles in his wake, until he instinctively scanned the bus for the auburn-haired woman, although his brain told him that she never took this bus (he took it every second day). To his surprise, she was nestled in her seat, eyes focused on him. Her red lips were quirked into a small smile, crinkles appearing around her soft brown eyes. A light blush dusted her cheeks.

It was almost like she knew he was feeling shit.

His own lips tugged up at their own accord, and the world looked just a little brighter.

He sunk into his seat, head resting against the cool glass window. He swore he saw the sun emerge from behind the clouds.

* * *

Barry found that he actually started making an effort in the mornings. He left his house earlier and had a couple minutes to spare at the bus stop before the bus came. Although he would never admit it, he did it so he could be on the same bus as her. Especially on his bad days.

He was convinced she had secret healing powers within her smile.

Barry stepped onto the bus, his pupils already darting to her spot. Mel gave him an odd look, one which he'd never seen her old, wrinkled skin contort into. It was kind of scary, actually. He quickly walked past her, willing the image of her smiling to exit his mind.

Layla was sipping her coffee from a reusable cup, smiling lightly over the rim. Otherwise, she paid no attention to him. He liked to think otherwise.

Barry noticed that he'd feel kind of giddy the closer the proximity he was to her. He found it slightly distressing.

Was he really developing a crush on a complete stranger?

He shook his head. _No, of course not._

Just to prove his point, he sat one seat closer to her. It was _not_ because someone took his spot, and his palms were definitely _not_ sweating. And he definitely did _not_ sneak glances at her, or try to catch her reflection in the windows.

 _No, of course not._

And Barry did _not_ feel hurt when she never met his gaze.

* * *

Okay, he admitted it. He had a tiny crush on her. He blamed it on her smile. It was like the visual representation of love and all things good.

As soon as he entered the bus, Mel gave him a knowing look. Barry wanted to tell her to shut up.

The sight he was greeted with was one he had never seen—a crowded bus. School kids filled the bus to the brink.

His brows furrowed immediately. Barry scanned the bus, bouncing on his tippy toes. He thought he saw the kids from when he practically threw his bus pass across the bus in his seat, but they turned away before he could confirm.

These kids were also pretty tall, so he couldn't even see if Layla was on the bus (sometimes she wasn't, and he'd have to pretend to not be disappointed). He craned his neck for the fifth time when he realised that she was right next to him.

She was a lot shorter than he realised—he'd never seen her standing. His stop was before hers.

Barry schooled his facial expression into one of nonchalance and begged his heart to stop beating a million miles per hour. He focused his attention on the moving landscape outside until something shiny caught his attention.

Upon close inspection, he concluded that it was a small metal pin on the collar of Layla's blouse. It had the S.T.A.R Labs logo, and finally, all the pieces clicked.

The bioengineering book he saw her read on multiple occasions and that one time he saw her wear a lab coat on the bus (yeah, he was still confused) finally made sense. And S.T.A.R Labs was on the 505 bus route. It was only a few stops after his.

 _Dude_ , she was way cooler than he thought. S.T.A.R Labs? Only geniuses graced its halls.

And then Barry realised he was right next to her. Suddenly, all his time pretending that her close proximity didn't affect him flew out the window. He could just catch the scent of her shampoo—jasmine. He swallowed hard.

Barry shuffled his feet, his hands already collecting sweat. He was just holding a wet pole at this point.

She finally seemed to notice him and he wished he had spent the time to comb his hair this morning. He fixed his wayward collar as casually as possible. She eyed him from the corner of her eye, before smiling sweetly and turning away to stare out the window.

Barry's heart skipped a beat.

* * *

She sat closer to the front one day. He noticed as soon as he stepped on the bus.

Layla held a file in her hands, studying it intently. A lock of auburn hair fell as she leaned forward, eyes narrowed at the paper, teeth nibbling at her bottom lip. Barry had the sudden urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, but she beat him to it.

She was wearing a yellow sundress, a straw hat tucked under her arm. He wondered if she was actually going to work because she was wearing sandals. Barry instinctively guessed that she was into following rules—unlike him. She didn't seem to be a person who would directly disobey safety measures just to be fashion conscious in a science lab.

Someone coughed—it was the bus driver—and he realised he was staring at her.

"Uh, sorry," Barry stammered, scratching the back of his head. He shuffled down the aisle meekly. It was then that he realised Mel was on the bus too, but it was too late. His foot caught on Mel's old, leather loafers and Barry was falling— _falling onto Layla_.

And he was just starting to think Mel wasn't that bad.

He caught himself with the pole, but that didn't cancel out the fact that he was only an inch away from Layla's face. Here, he noticed the slight freckles that dusted her nose bridge and the rosy hue sewn into her cheeks.

Barry's eyes drew down to her lips, which she was chewing away at quite viciously. Layla noticed his lowered eyes and immediately released her lip from her teeth's hold with a pop. Her bottom lip was an angry red and that broke Barry out of his reverie.

He jumped back, arms up in defence. "I'm so sorry," he grimaced. He spun around and scrambled up to his seat, not waiting for her reaction and finally letting his eyes widen at what he'd just done.

Slapping a hand to his forehead, he muttered, "Barry the em'barry'sing strikes again."

* * *

It was not his fault that his love for the Jackson 5 was renewed with Joe's spontaneous karaoke night. But it all worked out in the end away. (It always seemed to be like that for Barry and Layla.)

Barry felt like he was in Hairspray or something as he walked down the street with _"I Want You Back"_ blasting in his earphones. He may or may not have been singing and could you really blame him if he danced down the street instead of walking like a sane person?

The sun was shining, the bus was on time and the only thing that could make his day better was—

And there she was.

Barry stopped mid-twirl on the bus, but not because the bus driver told him to cut it out.

Layla's usually smiling face was marred by a frown with her teeth on her bottom lip.

His brows tugged down at the sight, but other than that, he continued with his ferocious dancing and singing, however with less fervour than before.

"When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around," he sung, snapping his fingers with the beat. Layla's head turned from the window to watch him. He felt her eyes on him almost immediately and he glanced up to make sure he wasn't getting ahead of himself.

Barry was met with a quirked lip before she ducked her head and hid behind her auburn hair.

Her small smile fueled something within him, and soon he found himself belting the rest of the song (just to see her smile widen).

"Those pretty faces make you stand out in the crowd!" he serenaded, his hand catching on a pole and he swung around, his messenger bag thudding against his leg. He kept his eyes on her. All he was missing was a rose in his mouth. Joe always said he should've joined glee club in high school.

"Michael Jackson, take a seat!—"

"—But someone picked you from the bunch, one glance is all it took!"

"Cut it out!" the bus driver bellowed, glaring at him through the rearview mirror.

Laughter peeled from the back of the bus, a sound Barry could embarrassingly remember clearly. Layla was laughing and his day had gotten infinitely better. Barry gazed up at her through his eyelashes, a lopsided grin on his lips as he took a bow.

Maybe embarrassing himself wasn't so bad.

* * *

Barry caught the bus less often. He was stacked to his neck with work, which often lead to sleepovers at CCPD with Joe. The times he went home was to shower and change, but that became less frequent with access to showers and Joe bringing over his clothes. The fact that Joe didn't order him home was a sign of how much work—important work—that he had.

It also meant not seeing Layla for a whole month.

He slowly grew to forget the shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her hair curled around her ear.

Snow was falling again and something deep in his mind linked it to the first time he saw her smile. The thought was lost as soon as Singh dropped another file of evidence on his desk.

* * *

Barry took the bus for the first time in two months.

He instinctively glanced up, feeling _giddy_ —she looked horrible.

He didn't feel so giddy anymore.

Dark circles were rung under her eyes, her skin sickly pale. Her head drooped against her palm, which was propped up on the window sill by her elbow. Her brown eyes drifted towards his direction, but all they did was skim over him before landing back to staring out the window.

His heart sunk, only one thought drifting through his mind.

 _I should've been there._ (What was there to be there for? They didn't even know each other!) _It felt like they did._

Barry slid into his seat, brows knitting together.

And that was how it went for a couple of weeks. Layla did not smile, and Barry was left feeling like he did not get the memo. At least she looked better with every few days.

But it wasn't his business, right? She wasn't his business (and Barry's crush had faded). But that didn't mean he didn't feel guilty when he saw her emotionless face.

With his heart in his throat, he plugged his earphones in and pressed play.

* * *

Barry missed it. He _craved_ it.

But Layla had not smiled for almost a month and he shouldn't feel bothered but he did and he didn't know why.

Maybe it was because she always brightened his day when he was down, without even trying—without even _knowing_. And him? What had he done for her?

With hardened resolve, he stormed onto the bus, tapped on his bus pass, avoided Mel's feet and brushed past a school kid. It helped that The Clash's _"Should I Stay or Should I go"_ was blaring in his earphones, so he had an extra confidence boost in his rather brash action.

Licking his lips, he slid into the seat next to her, settling his messenger bag on his lap, all the while ignoring his rapid heartbeat and her blank stare.

;

He didn't think it through—sitting next to her, that was. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes—the sound of Barry tapping away at his bag in the beat of the song was the only sound to be heard on the bus, besides the roaring engine. Layla had returned to staring blankly out the window and he had no choice but to look the other way.

 _What if I don't mean as much as she does to me?_

He blinked a couple of times and breathed in heavily.

 _This was a mistake._

Barry grabbed the strap of his bag, heaving it over his shoulder.

"You should stay." Her voice cracked and fizzed like it hadn't been used for a year. Barry regarded her, his body still turned away from her, ready to leave. She bit her lip nervously, before breaking out in a sheepish smile.

"You should turn your volume down, though," she said with a twisted lip.

Barry grinned, turning his body back into the seat. "What, don't you like my taste in music?" he asked, feigning offence. He leaned his head back and something inside him felt content.

She smiled—all lips and no teeth. (He promised to himself he'd make her grin like she used to).

They fell back into silence, but it was comfortable this time.

Barry turned the volume down.


End file.
